


Echo Chamber

by resoundingdeluge



Category: RWBY
Genre: During Canon, Multi, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24509707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resoundingdeluge/pseuds/resoundingdeluge
Summary: Sometimes the only way to truly understand a person is to live inside of their head for a while. First person present perspective.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Sun Wukong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Marathon

_"…have you ever met someone and thought to yourself, 'They are the personification of **this** word?'"_

Over and over, the conversation plays out again in my mind as I stand here, alone, beneath an artificial cascade of water. The warm stream is comforting as it washes over my body, feeling almost like an embrace. Between the constant falling water and the heavy sensation of my hair, soaked and matted down all the way to the small of my back, I feel content… physically, at least.

_"Uh…" Sun reached up and scratched the back of his head, looking a bit confused by my statement. It was at that moment that I decided to double down, and push forward- if I couldn't do it with words, what chance would I have with actions, later?_

_"Okay, well, I remember getting to know Ruby and thinking 'This girl is the embodiment of 'purity'. After a while, I saw Weiss was 'defiance', and Yang was 'strength.'"_

_"What am I?" he replied, without missing a beat._

I still don't know why my mind jumped to 'hot'. Or rather… I do know, but I'm still not ready to fully admit it to myself, just yet. I remember explaining to him how I came to realize that Adam was the personification of 'spite', and how Sun had sat across from me, listening with rapt attention, his entire body still as a statue bar the idle swishing of his tail. I had never noticed until then how much attention he pays to me, how he hangs off of my every word… but while he does it, he's always _earnest_. His deep, ocean-blue eyes never leave mine, and his lips never betray me.

He's so unlike some other men in my life.

_"…and his way of thinking is dangerously contagious. That's what worries me about Ilia. She's not like Adam, not yet, at least, but I don't know how long that will last." I finished my monologue, my hand nervously stirring the green and yellow patterned umbrella in my drink._

Funny how he's never still, unless he's listening to me, and I never fidget, unless I'm talking to him.

_As I looked up at Sun, my stomach turned to ice- I could feel the question coming. I **knew** it had to be coming, and had I been speaking to anyone else, the next words out of their mouth would have been '…so, what word are you?'_

A small smile creeps across the corner of my mouth as I reach up and back, bundling my hair into a soggy pile over one shoulder. The staccato beat of the droplets hitting the wooden walls and tub surrounding me serves as a soundtrack for my thoughts, as I review that single moment again and again.

He could have asked after I'd crowned him with 'earnest'. He could have asked the second I was done breaking down my revelation regarding Adam. He could have… but he didn't. He wouldn't, because he knew I didn't want him to, and I never realized that fact until just now, standing in the shower on the upstairs floor of my parents' mansion and soaking for far longer than was reasonable.

There was a time when I'd been angry with Sun for following me. For assuming that I would go after the White Fang on my own, and for the simple fact that he didn't 'get' me. However, as the weeks dragged on, leading up to this day, and the events that would be set in motion tonight, I finally came to realize that he may just be the only one who _does_.

I guess it was a combination of things that pushed me to have that conversation with him. The same conversation that has been on repeat for the past week, now, starting a fresh loop again at this very moment. It was only after that conversation, and his reactions to my words, that I finally felt comfortable trusting him completely. It's a feeling that continues to linger inside of my body, warming it from within as the water does from without. Altogether, the two combine to give me a feeling almost like pins and needles, but in a positive sense. It's… odd. It's foreign to me. It's… _intense_.

I idly loop a few strands of jet black hair around my pointer finger, staring at the wooden wall before me as the water continues to rain down. Still smirking, still warm… and still lost in thought, as another memory floats through my mind, unbidden. A related memory, but through a connection I didn't make in my mind until very recently.

_My lips and throat burned, the scorching tea leaving a trail of pain and regret after my stupid decision to drink it quickly. All I wanted was a distraction from my father, who was sat across from me, and I'd certainly found it. I set the cup down upon the table in front of myself, feeling rather foolish as the large faunus cleared his throat._

_"So, is it… **warm** in Vale?"_

_"Huh?" I looked him in the eye, trying to find the intent behind his words. I didn't follow, and seconds later, I'd wished he'd never clarified._

_"It just, seems like your outfit doesn't cover very much." he replied._

_I immediately felt a perverse and all-encompassing sense of shame wash over my face, chased by a scarlet blush as I crossed my arms._

_"It covers **plenty**."_

Looking back now, I can't help but let out a chuckle as I finally decide to stop wasting time, and reach out to grab the pouf hanging from the showerhead by a simple plastic hook and rope. With my other hand, I lift the plastic bottle resting idly on the edge of the tub, and give it a squeeze to trail honey-colored, viscous liquid down into the puffy little ball. When he'd said that, I was _pissed_ … but now, I feel almost thankful for that awkward moment.

My dad's words had gotten me thinking about why exactly I'd changed my outfit… and why for so long, I hadn't. All of that time at Beacon, I'd worn the same clothes that I preferred while working with the White Fang- the same clothes that Adam had so often remarked made me look like his ' _little doll_ '.

A shiver ripples across my flesh as visions of fire rush through my mind, accompanied by goosebumps rising on my arms. My pool of memories, once pure and relaxing, becomes instantly poisoned by a single droplet of his echoing voice within my skull. All it takes is one thought to change everything about an otherwise pleasant moment.

_"My love."_

_"Why must you hurt me?"_

_"My **love**."_

I feel sick as I set the plastic bottle back down, my other hand keeping a death grip on the pouf as I grit my teeth. I will never let him finish those two words again, regardless of what I have to do to cut him off. Soap gurgles out of the pouf and trails down my hand, coating it with foam as my entire arm shakes. I close my eyes, my chest heaving slightly as I draw in deep breaths, focusing on the sensation of the water, of my hair, and of warmth. _Internal_ warmth.

I can never let that warmth go. That warmth is reason enough to stop running and stand my ground, be it against Adam, against the White Fang, or against the entire world, if need be. I changed my outfit to strip away the feeling of ownership that Adam held over me, and standing here, naked and alone, I vow to burn it once he's gone.

Now that I have a resolution made, the shaking slowly comes to a stop, and I open my eyes. With my breathing once again under my control, I squeeze the pouf in my right hand, slick with body wash and covered in foamy bubbles, wringing out more of the cleansing tonic before I drag it across my chest. The same chest that my father complained was barely covered. The same chest from which Adam never made an effort to avert his eyes.

Angrily, I thrust my hand outward, punching the pouf into the wooden wall as I hang my head. How had I let such disgusting thoughts interrupt my happy memories and feeling of comfort? The shower was my haven, and now, it was tainted by thoughts of _him_. I close my eyes again, my calming breaths becoming fragmented with sobs instead of shivers, this time. Streams of water continue to fall both onto my head and back… and now, down my cheeks. The second stream is nothing like the first- it is cold, and unforgiving. Uncontrollable. Unwelcome. _Desperate_.

I feel as though I've hit my lowest low. I want to vomit. I want to throw this stupid pouf over the wall, kick through the glass door, and _run_. Run, as I always have. Run naked, crying, and screaming until I reach a place away from everyone. I've only ever felt this horrible twice in my life. Once, upon seeing Yang laying upon the ground, her arm cut off at the elbow, and once…

_I stared down at the floor as he blinked awake. Sun was groggy, the blood-soaked bandage on his shoulder wrinkling and flexing as he tried to sit up from his prone position on the couch. When Ilia had managed to stab him with her extending whip, I remember my entire body going cold. A full day later, that crippling despair hadn't left me as I sat beside him. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I just waited, and prayed desperately to any god that I could dream up._

_"Blake…?"_

_" **This** is why, Sun." I turned ever so slightly to look at him, on the verge of tears. The only reason I didn't cry was because I physically couldn't. All of my tears had been spent already. "This is why I left them all behind."_

The rest blurs together, fogged by my brain perhaps intentionally, or perhaps through these fresh tears. I remember telling him to shut up, I remember telling him that I thought about _them_ every single day… and I remember, that while I was sitting there, waiting for him to wake up, I settled upon the word that _I_ personified. I had no purity, after what I'd done in the White Fang, and with the thoughts I'd been having lately. I was bereft of defiance, merely letting the currents of life carry me away from my own desires. Strength? The notion was laughable… at that time.

I was _uselessness_.

Near to the end of our conversation, after I'd nearly screamed at him, things become a bit more concrete. I can hear his voice clearly, and I can still feel the rush of guilt that his words brought me. The very words that caused me to rethink everything I've ever done, and all that I plan to do moving forward.

_"You think you're being selfless… but you're not. Yeah, that chameleon friend of yours got me pretty good… but I'd do it all again if it meant protecting you. And I can promise, Yang would say the same."_

_My whole body tensed and my cat ears curled downward as he spoke her name. Sun paused briefly, perhaps in pain, as he managed to drag himself up into a sitting position despite the wound upon his shoulder. His next words had a twinge of effort in them as he rose, hunched over and resting his arms upon his legs._

_"You can make your own choices, sure. But you don't get to make ours. When your friends fight for you, it's because we want to. So **stop** pushing us out. It hurts more than anything the bad guys could ever do to us."_

_Sun ended his speech as I'd begun the encounter- looking at the floor. I looked away. I felt I didn't deserve to look at him anymore._

A heaving sob wracks its way through my body as I pound my fist against the wood again, the impact lessened by the washing implement in my hand. I had been so stupid only to think of how my friends getting hurt had made _me_ feel… while at the same time, ignoring how my avoidance made them feel, as well. His mention of Yang was targeted, but not malicious. He knew that bringing up my team was off limits, and it was an unspoken rule between us since our arrival in Menagerie. It was also the punch in the gut that I needed to get my head out of my ass. Thinking his words over again now, the impact is just as great. I remove my hand from the wall, and stand straight once again.

I'm done crying. I'm done running, and I'm done shutting people out… because of him. For every thought of Adam, or the White Fang, there's a line from Sun to balance it out. For every time Adam snaked his hand around my waist, there was another in which a gentle touch from Sun rested upon my shoulder, just when I needed it most. I _do_ get to make my choices… and now, I'm choosing to pull myself together.

I may be a mess, but there's at least one person right here, right now, who doesn't mind.

It's incredible how my mouth can feel so dry while standing under running water. I mash my lips together in an attempt to bring some moisture back, and let out one last dramatic sigh before shaking my head. I'm going to go to him, and I'm going to let him know that I feel like shit. He's my rock in this storm, and one I need to cling to now more than ever. Of course, I want to look good, before I do so… and it probably won't be tonight.

Once again I try to wash, giving the pouf a squeeze before I brush it across my navel and curve it down my right thigh. How nice it feels to be in the process of cleaning, in both body and thought. With my mind racing through memories, regrets, and future plans, though, I can't help but think how nice it would be for someone _else's_ hand to be guiding the mesh down and around my waist.

Or a tail.

My smirk returns, despite how ridiculous it feels to pinball back and forth between emotions like this. Mom would just say I'm being a teenage girl, and that it's all natural… and maybe she's right. Answers and inspiration seem to be coming from the most unexpected sources, lately. Not even lately, if I'm honest- just in general.

I lather some soap into my other hand, and trail it up and under my left breast, biting my lower lip as I do so. I make it a point to clean my chest with haste, though I can't help but continue my train of thought from earlier- how nice it would be, indeed…

I snap out of it rather quickly, a bit disgusted with myself for thinking such things with my parents only a few rooms over… and the object of my desires elsewhere in the house, waiting on me to finish. I knew I was taking too long to shower, and it brought me a bit of guilt. At the same time, though… I _needed_ this.

I remove my hands from my chest, sparing myself a quick look downward- once again, my mind twists and turns to unexpected places, as my first thought is…

…well. I'm certainly no Yang… and Dad would have a _fit_ looking at her, if he thinks _I'm_ underdressed.

I giggle a bit to myself as I bend over, running the pouf along my legs and scrubbing away whatever dirt had been collected on my body today. If only it was just as easy to clean out my mind.

 _Yang_.

There was a smile I missed… and another friend I'd hurt.

I pause, bent low and mulling over how I feel, what I'm going to do, and whether or not I'm going to go down this mental road again. After only a brief pause, I resume washing, confident in my choice.

I'll fix it. I'll run _to_ her, as soon as we make our way to Haven and get things under control there.

It's been so long since our conversation in that classroom, when I'd been running myself ragged trying to find Torchwick. Looking back, Torchwick was such a little problem, in the grand scheme of things… but I was too focused on what his presence meant to _me_ to realize that.

I don't remember most of what Yang said. I remember her story about trying to find her mother, and I remember being told to _slow down_. Sound advice, at the time, but… I've grown. I've changed. Slowing down now would be the death of me. Even so, I miss her. I miss _all_ of them, and I'll find them and make it right. I thought I was being selfless by cutting myself out of their lives… _but I'm not_.

I rise and twist, doing the best I can to reach around to my back and finish scrubbing myself clean. It's always a bit awkward, getting your own dirt off your back. At least now, I have someone else to do it with me… in a metaphorical sense. Soon, though… maybe more than just that.

It can't be coincidence that my thoughts drift back to my current companion as I gingerly guide my hand down between my legs, lingering only for a moment as I let my mind wander where it may. Those thoughts can wait… and potentially never manifest, as I can't even believe I'm doing this right now. I blush hard as I make quick work of cleaning the area, and remove my hand so quickly that it was as though I'd been bitten by a snake.

Or a monkey.

The water slows to a trickle, and then nothingness as I turn off the showerhead, idling only slightly as I let out a steamy breath. Despite the cool night air filtering in from over the wooden wall and onto my flesh, I feel… warm. I feel _good_ , after that emotional rollercoaster. I feel like once this situation with Ilia is resolved, I'm going to feel good for a long time.

The glass door of the shower slides back, guided by my hand as I gingerly step over the rim of the tub, and grab the waiting towel. My hands raise the fabric up into my hair, tousling it into a ragged mess that falls naturally down my back. I _really_ should cut my hair… but then again, I probably should do a lot of things. I think I like the weight of it, really.

After rubbing down the rest of my body, I loop the towel back over the rack and use a palm to wipe the fog off the mirror. Fortunately, I can't see any tear trails in my reflection. I see a girl who is getting over her issues, one step at a time, and I think I like it. This new feeling of confidence, of having a plan is so alien, but so comforting that I feel as though I could take on the world, as I am now. I turn and walk the short distance to the wall, where Gambol Shroud leans, resting in its sheathe. I pick up the weapon to look over the bladed casing, and my muted reflection in the shiny black metal.

What If I just walked out there right now, naked, armed, and proud, and showed the world the new Blake Belladonna? Here I am. No backing down, no going back, and ready to lead a whole new revolution. My way.

What if I stopped being a goddamned idiot, instead, because my parents could very well be in the hallway and Sun would probably have an aneurysm if I strolled out in the nude and just casually walked downstairs?

At least Dad couldn't complain about my outfit again.

As I set my precious blade down across the basin of the sink, I get to work gearing up. I shuffle into my underwear and bra, followed by my pants and knee-high boots. Finally, I pull my top down over my head and hair, and drag the weighty mass of black fibers up through the back with what can only be described as a herculean effort.

Yeah, I'm definitely cutting this hair.

Maybe.

With my overcoat on and one final check in the mirror, I decide that I'm not putting on makeup tonight. After all- I'm likely going to end up being tackled to the ground while Ilia tries once again to justify her actions to me, and I don't need to look good for a dirt road. If that does happen, though… maybe I can come back here and shower again. I do love me a good, long shower.

I push the wooden door to the bathroom open and step out as I strap my weapon up and around my back, a blanket of steam creeping out from the hot shower and clinging to my ankles as I walk. My parents don't seem to be nearby, and no sounds come from anywhere inside the house.

I walk out with purpose, heading down a nearby staircase and into the living room, where I expect to find Sun. I do, and he's laying upon the couch, looking expectantly up the steps as I descend, weapon in hand as he lounges.

That couch threatens to bring up bad memories as I approach it. Memories of watching him lay there and bleed silently, occasionally changing his bandages as I wondered whether or not he was going to wake up.

Perhaps later tonight, he and I can make a different sort of memory on that couch to replace those dark thoughts.

I watch his lips as he sits up, thinking about what they could do to mine in the very near future. The warmth in my chest intensifies, and my breath hitches as he begins to speak.

"You ready to go?"

One last time, I pull out the note that Ilia had left upon the balcony. Things 'going too far' indeed. It took me a while to come to a decision, but I showed the note to Sun shortly after finding it. He didn't question what I wanted to do. I knew that whatever I decided, he would be there to back me up… and that's why I feel completely comfortable walking straight into this.

"Yeah. Are you?"

Sun stands, rolling his previously-injured arm and testing his range of motion as he looks me over. I know I'm still a bit damp. I also know that it's completely intentional.

"Born ready. I'll follow at a distance, and I won't act until you give me a signal. Learn whatever you can, and play up the damsel in distress if she has a trap set up. We've got this."

I roll my eyes, folding my arms beneath my chest. I try to push it up just a bit, for him. His eyes never leave mine… and I failed horribly, anyway. There isn't exactly much _to_ push up.

Why can't he be like every other guy, and work off of obvious signals? I'm going to have to put myself out there later just to get a response, at this rate.

"Of _course_ she has a trap set up. I'm not worried." I uncross my arms and begin to walk for the door to the outside, passing him as I go.

Sun shoots me a quizzical look, hiking a brow. "You're not?"

I stop my stride, and for once, it's _my_ hand on _his_ shoulder, and I initiate the eye contact. Welcome to the new Blake. I hope you enjoy it.

"No. I've got you."

A cheesy grin is my reward, and I meet it with my own… muted, toothless little smile. That's all I feel comfortable giving right now, but it's something. It's a step forward.

I turn, and take another step forward, toward the door. Those steps will soon become a jog, and then a run. I can't slow it down, and I certainly can't stop. I've been through so much that I know I can weather the storm. The harsh winds and cold rain of reality have tempered me, and the rays of light that work each day to clear it all away have given me hope for the future. The new Blake is still going to run… but she's going to run headlong into the problem, and figure it out while knee-deep in it, with her friend, and in time, her _friends_ at her side. I've learned a lot from Sun and Yang, and I'm going to do both of them proud.

Before, I thought I couldn't do this anymore. Now, I've discovered that the truth is that I can't do this _alone_. The moon gets its light from the sun, and reflects it outward to shine a path through the darkness. Never have I felt more connected to the night than I do right now. Yang always used to tease me for brooding and embodying the 'B' in RWBY a little too well… but I'll show her what that notion really means to me, when I see her again.

As I make my way through the streets, and Sun breaks off to my left to take to the rooftops, my confident smile never fades. I know I'm walking into danger, and I know that while I may get hurt, he'll be there for me the whole way through. All of that optimism and the comfort he's given me, I'll reflect out into the world. I've changed. I've grown. I'll keep moving forward, no matter what comes my way.

Have you ever met someone and thought to yourself, 'they are the personification of _this_ word?'

My name is Blake Belladonna, and I am endurance.


	2. Phantom

I remember one time, during a lecture at Signal Academy, my psychology professor tried to explain how the brain and senses interact. I was on board, paying… a pretty decent amount of attention. 60% of my attention? There was attention involved, otherwise, I wouldn't remember what the lecture was about. _Logic_.

But anyway, she was speaking about the usual stuff- hearing, sight, taste, smell, touch, and how the brain interprets electrical signals. It was all pretty standard fair. The kind of stuff you should definitely know, by the time you're ready to leave for an actual, more focused Academy. My attention was dangerously close to cutting in half, or even thirds, until she started to detail the senses that most people aren't familiar with.

Everyone's probably heard of the sense where you can… feel dead people around yourself, or whatever, but that one wasn't enough to jolt me out of my mid-academic half-coma. One of the ones she listed, though, definitely was. She called it _proprioception_ – the ability to tell where your limbs are, even when they're not in your field of view. Naturally, I had to experiment a bit, and closed my eyes while flailing around. It's totally real. I mean, it seems like it would be common sense that it's real, since we all experience it on a daily basis.

Or… _experienced_ it.

I can't put a number on it, but I guarantee that at _least_ three times every time we've lost power, either at home, or at Beacon, I've tried to flip the light switch while entering a room. It never works. I know it'll never work, and I do it anyway, just because it's so ingrained in my behavior. I think 'Hey, it's dark as hell in here. I can fix that!' and then I proceed not to fix it, because I'm an idiot.

I guess most people are idiots as well, since I've seen others do the same thing. One time, I caught _Weiss_ trying charge her scroll while the power was out. Even little miss perfect isn't capable of just instantly shutting off things her body and mind just take for granted when the need arises.

Maybe that's why, every single morning, I try to shut my alarm clock off using my right hand.

And every morning, I don't remember that I don't _have_ a right hand, until the stump where my elbow should be makes a heavy, depressing thud into the mattress.

Maybe the ol' teach was wrong. Maybe the sense of proprioception doesn't exist. I sure as hell can't tell where my arm is anymore, whether or not it should be in my field of view. My guess is a trashcan, somewhere on the grounds of Beacon.

Probably a burning trashcan, at this point.

A burning trashcan with my arm, Dad's fashion sense, and Ruby's maturity in it.

So, here I am, lying in bed, with my right… _stump_ out to my side, listening to the irritating screech of an electronic alarm clock and looking like I was crucified to the mattress. I'm also having approximately that much fun, too.

Dad suggested that I move the nightstand, and therefore, the alarm clock itself, to the _left_ side of the bed. I countered with an incredibly mature and well-reasoned argument commonly known in the debating community as 'fuck that.'

That's probably why I was kicked out of the Debate Club at Signal, but what do they know? I got the last word in as I left, so I won that debate. Once again, _logic_.

Finally, I muster up the effort to roll onto my right side, and slam down on the top of the alarm with my left hand. I let out a sigh, as the prospect of yet another day in No-Limbsville washes over me. I know I'm not the only resident, but hey. Nobody's gonna interrupt my one-girl pity-party first thing in the morning on my watch.

Thoroughly satisfied with my triumph over the screeching beast from the depths of hell, I roll back to the left and scooch backward, into a sitting position. Just like every other morning, I let out a massive, noisy yawn, and lift my arm-and-a-half up toward the ceiling, reaching for that plaster surface that I know I'll never quite touch. As I close my eyes, I wiggle my fingers, on the off chance that I'll reach it.

All _ten_ of my fingers.

My eyes fly open in shock, and a flush of warmth rushes down my face- a stabbing, rippling, _unnatural_ warmth, like puke is suddenly stored in my cheeks, instead of my stomach. The wave ripples down my neck, into my chest, and down to my core, before weakening a bit as it tingles through my legs. I brace myself, and look up. I know what I'm about to see. This isn't every day, but it isn't the first time, either.

One. Two. Three. Four. _Five_.

Five fingers, and all on one side.

I thought I was over this. I thought I had _beaten_ this. The sick, delusional sensation that I could feel my fingers hadn't bothered me in over a week. I can handle forgetting that I'm missing a limb, but _feeling_ that missing limb is getting old. My brain knows it's still there, but my brain, my sense of touch, and my eyes are all telling me different things. I've never been good with multiple people not being straightforward with me, and feeding me different stories. I can hardly handle _myself_ telling me different stories.

Involuntarily, I let out a whimper as I lower my arms, the nauseous feeling writhing just beneath my skin turning from a worrying, uncomfortable hot to a curdling, sickening cold. I'm not going to cry.

I'm _not_ going to cry.

I ball my remaining fist, and push down hard into the mattress as I half-jump out of the bed, and head for the bathroom. I flick on the lights as I enter, and they work, illuminating the entire room in a bright, almost clinical sheen.

I've always liked horror movies, but lately, I'm beginning to think I wouldn't enjoy them anymore. Not when I've got this horrible feeling that I can't shake, my own body lying to me, and now, standing here with my fist pushed into the glass of the mirror, even though I don't remember deciding to throw the punch.

Please, don't be broken. _Please_ don't be broken…

With my breath caught in my throat, I slowly pull my shaking fist back from the mirror, ready to have to confess to Dad that I'd lashed out again, and that I was sorry. For once, today, something is going my way, and I'd apparently stopped myself from finishing the punch, just as my fist kissed the cool surface of the glass.

As I pull back, four little circles of moisture from where my knuckles had pressed into the mirror begin to fade, disappearing outward until they simply disappear. Behind them, I can see my reflection, and the reason for my reflex. I'm not happy with what I see.

I turn my head to the side to make it easier to take my shirt off. This bit, I've gotten down to a science, though I make the process a little longer this morning so that I can rub the fabric against my cheeks as it comes off, in hopes that I wipe away some of the… moisture that had set up shop, there. Weird thing about bathrooms on a cold morning; the condensation just runs wild. Even on skin.

 _Now_ I look like a hot, topless mess, which is better than a plain-old mess, so ten Yang Points to me. Pretty sure I've got the high score, and nobody's taking it anytime soon. I approach the sink and grab my mint-green toothbrush, before biting down on the handle side and holding it steady between my teeth.

There _are_ some upsides to missing a limb. My sense of balance and coordination has doubled, maybe even tripled, or… five-led? That's a thing. While lifting the tube of toothpaste with my left hand, I manage to squeeze out just enough onto the head of the brush sticking out from my mouth. _Score_.

I set the tube back down, before taking the toothbrush in my grasp and getting to work on my pearly whites. It's incredible how something so simple can feel like a victory when just a month and a half ago I was fighting grimm and winning tournaments. Now, I'm standing here, proud that I can brush my own teeth, even if my hand is shaking. That part, I need to figure out. Is it anger? Fear? Shot nerves?

I look down to spit in the sink, and let the saliva just slowly ooze down from my lower lip. Naturally, I aim for the drain, and try to get the thread to slip straight into the circular hole around the metal stopper-plug-thing without letting it touch the porcelain. It totally does.

 _Fifteen_ Yang Points.

I grin at the sight, and look back up into the mirror.

_He's there._

_Clad in black and red, he runs toward me, swift and silent. His hands are both on the katana at his side, one on the sheathe, and the only, the hilt of the blade. His mask obscures his eyes, but I can tell that they're locked with mine, both of us unblinking as he continues his hasty approach. He's here, and he's come to claim what he left behind at Beacon. The blade is drawn before I have time to react, the red steel arcing out of the mirror and across my stomach. I feel the hot, sick sensation of my intestines spilling out, blood and viscera leaking from the fatal wound while_

I double over as my vision goes white, and I vomit into the sink. The brown, sick liquid splashes against the spotless porcelain while I heave, keeping the rim of the sink in a death grip. Another wave of nausea floods up my throat, and another torrent of foul-tasting, mostly-digested food and stomach acid propels itself up and outward from my body. I cough and sputter, before stealing another glance at the mirror above.

Bile and saliva mixes upon my chin in a gross rivulet, but it's me. It's _just_ me.

This can't keep happening. Something needs to change, and I need to be the one to do it. As much as I know it isn't real, the _feeling_ of it is. Adam. My arm. This notion of being useless. My own body and mind are turning against me… but my will is stronger. It _has_ to be stronger, or I'm going to lose my mind.

I know I can't stay like this forever, and I know that by staying at home and just tending the house, I'm avoiding the problem… but I'm not ready.

Then again… Adam isn't going to wait until I'm ready. Cinder didn't wait until Pyrrha was ready. Beacon was as prepared as it could possibly have been… and now, it's _gone_.

I won't let my life follow the same pattern.

I keep my gaze locked into my own eyes, my entire body still shaking. I blink, and in that instant, he's there, again, in the mirror. This time, he just stands there, smirking. I can't see his hands, but I know where they are. I know why his torso is turned partially to the left. Scared out of my mind, I stare him down as I reach behind myself, grabbing the bath towel off the rack and tossing it onto the lights above the mirror, letting it hang in front of the glass. He's gone. Out of sight, out of mind.

I wish it were that simple.

That towel isn't coming off the mirror until I shower later tonight, and even then… I may just grab another one from the hallway closet, instead. I'll see how I feel later.

With a shudder, I turn on the faucet again, splashing my hand around beneath the stream to guide the errant vomit down the drain. With the basin mostly clean, I go through the same routine again- toothbrush handle into the mouth, tube squeeze successful, flip it on around, tube away, up and down, _spit_.

…fifteen more Yang Points.

* * *

I stride back into my room, and head to the dresser. Upon pulling open the top drawer… there it is again. My worst nightmare, manifesting before me. _A bra_.

The logistics of putting on a bra one-handed are baffling to me, and I'm sure as hell not asking _Dad_ for help. The scary thing is, he totally would- I just don't think I can handle that amount of awkwardness without imploding upon myself.

 _Dad_. All things considered, he's taken this like a champ. If he hadn't… I may never have gotten out of bed to begin with.

Leaving the bestrapped devil in its place, I pull out a simple orange sleeveless top, and wriggle my way into it before closing the drawer once again.

I make my way down the stairs, guiding my hand along the banister as I go. I always used to hate it when Dad and Ruby did this. It seems so _lame_ , but now… I don't want to push my luck, while I'm off-balance. Funny how inheritance has a way of catching up to you, even when it's not genetic.

"Dad?" I call out, as I shuffle my way into the living room, barefoot.

"Dad, are you home?"

Into the kitchen I go, looking for some signs of life. Instead, I find a little blue sticky note, and raise it to eye level.

" _Dragon-_

_I'm outside, tending the garden. I'm not mad, but don't try to get into the alcohol again. It's hidden and under lock and key, now. Make yourself some breakfast, and come join me._

_-Dad"_

How are you going to keep a bottle of tequila in the fridge for all to see, and _not_ expect me to try to make a strawberry sunrise for myself? Last night was his fault, as much as mine.

I stick the note down onto the kitchen island, and shake my head. Good ol' Dad. What would I do without you?

I yank open the fridge, which is a massive pain in the ass, considering it swings to the right, so I have to step out of the way and do an odd little half-step back to catch the door with my stump. I bend to look inside, letting my massive nest of hair dangle over my shoulder and tickle the flesh of my arm. It's a nice feeling.

Eggs? I don't feel like putting in the effort to crack, let alone cook them today.

Pancakes? Holding the bowl and stirring the mix is nearly impossible.

Toast? Who eats just _toast_ for breakfast? I mean, I could put jelly on it, but opening the jar is…

Plain toast it is.

My eyes wander the house after I push down the lever on the toaster, and wait for my mediocre breakfast to pop up. Yet again, they settle upon the box, sitting expectantly on the coffee table in the living room. _ATLAS Technologies_ , the box reads. Made just for me, and we didn't even have to ask.

So why can't I accept it?

When professors Port and Oobleck had come to visit yesterday, I told them both that this was my new normal. I told them that trying out that arm would be like pretending nothing had ever happened. I wonder if they knew that while technically true, that wasn't the reason I didn't want to try it on.

I jump, grabbing my side instinctively as the toaster makes a crunchy, metallic _pop_.

It's just the toast. It's just a machine that I'm letting help me out. Something that I chose to set up, even if I can't directly control it. It has a purpose, one that I agreed was worth exploring when I put the bread inside.

I blink, and let my arm fall back across my body and to the side. The real reason that I'd neglected to use the arm is that I'm scared. Scared of yet another loss of control. I can't control my body, still feeling those extra fingers from time to time. I can't control my mind, showing me Adam's phantom when I'm least prepared. I can't even control my actions, sometimes. I may have stopped myself from shattering the mirror this morning, but there were other times when I _did_ end up apologizing to Dad, even when I never wanted to break whatever I broke to begin with.

What if… I can't control that arm?

My hand starts to shake again as I begin a slow walk to the coffee table, leaving my toast behind. This time, I grip the waistband of my pajama pants, squeezing tight as I try to stop the jittering. It doesn't stop, as I arrive over the box. No matter how many times I read the word 'Atlas', it does nothing for me. This thing might be the most expensive and impressive piece of civilian tech out in the wild, but that still does nothing to calm my stomach… or my twitching hand.

I take a deep breath, and shake my hand out before I reach down and take the lid off of the box. Inside is the shimmering, white and black approximation of my missing arm, resting inside of a fitted foam casing. It's _beautiful_ , and I don't use the word 'beautiful' very often.

But what if I can't control it?

I chew my bottom lip, feeling somewhere between guilty and annoyed. So many people had done so much for me, without even being asked, and here I was, still mulling over whether or not I could accept their kindness. I close my eyes, and let my mind wander. What would Ruby say?

_"Oh, come on, Yang. Nothing's perfect! Sure, it might have some kinks, but they can be worked out… probably. Think of it like a new friendship! You just have to get to know the arm, and it has to get to know you."_

My eyes open, almost of their own willpower, and guide themselves back down to the prosthetic limb. A friendship. Maybe…

There they go again. My eyes wander to the _ATLAS_ text on the cover of the box, which is now laying off to the side. Between that and the bright white coloring of the limb, I can't help but let my mind drift to Weiss. I never even got to see her, after I lost my arm. I was told, after I woke up, that her father had come to 'collect' her, and that was that. Did she make it home? Will we ever see each other again?

…and why do I care so much, when we spoke so little, compared to the other two?

Yes, we were part of a team, but we hardly 'hung out'. And yet, every now and then, she would do something for me, or I for her. A cup of coffee, making my bed, some help on homework, or helping her manage her hair. Neither of us asked for it, and neither of us expected anything of each other… but the friendship _worked_. Just because so much was unknown didn't make it bad, and at the end of the day, even when we didn't see eye to eye… she was still one of my closest friends.

Isn't that what a friend is, really? Someone who enters your life without being asked to, and does things that may or may not make you happy, but even through the rough patches, they bring enough light to your life that they're worth keeping around?

Friends aren't meant to be controlled. They're meant to be trusted, to help you do the things you can't on your own. Whether that's in the moment, or on a permanent basis… I guess that's just down to the situation.

"…hi there," I began. Why I'm talking to a metal arm, I may never understand, but it just feels like something I need to do, for my own mental health. And here I get on Ruby's ass for being childish.

"My name is Yang. Yang Xiao Long." I pause, unable to resist following up with the cliché. "And I'm an alcoholic."

" _Hi, Yang Xiao Long_ ," I reply to myself in a deep voice, before breaking into a fit of giggles.

God, I'm a dumbass, and that really isn't funny. One more week of this, and I may well _become_ an alcoholic.

…alright, it's kinda funny.

"No, but seriously… I'm Yang, and I had… I guess it's not really an accident, is it? I had a bad run-in with a complete douchebag, while trying to protect a friend, and… I think I need you, right now."

My hand reaches down, hovering mere inches above the metallic arm. Oddly enough… it isn't shaking.

"I guess… I should give you a name, right? I mean, if we're going to be friends, and all."

I hesitate, and rest my fingertips upon the steel. It's cool to the touch, and incredibly smooth as I run my hand along its surface.

"Well, you remind me a lot of Weiss, since you're from Atlas, white, and… cold," I smirk to myself. "And you're used for gripping things. So… how about Vice?" Funnily enough, the arm doesn't reply, and for whatever reason- insanity, perhaps- I don't feel quite as stupid as I probably should.

"Vice it is. C'mere, you pompous little shit."

With a deep breath, I grip the arm, and pull it loose from its foam prison. It's weighty, and incredibly solid, with a sleek design. I rotate the arm to check out the socket, and find that it looks as though it would be as easy as snapping it onto the metal cap affixed where my elbow should be. It _can't_ be that easy. I'm hardly a scientist, but shouldn't it involve a lot more work than Tab A into Slot B?

I should probably call Dad for this, but I'm not about to break my streak of doing stupid shit while he's not around to stop me… and I want to do this by myself, _for_ myself. Besides… think of how many Yang Points I'll get, if I can pull this off.

Like any good technician, I close my eyes and wince as I pop the limb into place, and feel a sharp _click_ just as much as I hear it. When I blink my eyes open again, the arm is attached… and waiting.

I have that odd feeling, again. I think it's called a 'phantom limb', when you're convinced that you have an appendage that just isn't there. I feel like I can move the fingers on my right hand, but there's no way it would just _work_.

…is there?

I've never felt so nervous in my life as I do right now, staring down at this 'new friend'. I know what _should_ happen, when I think about moving my fingers… but what if it doesn't? All I need to do to preserve my sanity is to snap the limb back off, put it down into the box, toss the lid on top, eat my toast, and settle for another shitty day.

But… since when did I ever 'settle' for anything, until I lost my arm?

Thoughts are supposed to be instant, but the one I'm sending now, down to this set of imposter fingers, is the slowest an electrical signal has ever traveled in history, and I will fight anyone who tries to tell me otherwise. I can feel the half of a heartbeat that passes between the notion that I want to point at the box and my lower three 'fingers' curling into 'my' palm, but the motion happens nonetheless. Had I been holding the arm instead of having it attached to me, I surely would have dropped the damned thing and probably broken it in shock.

For once, I'm happy that I can't really control a feature of my body, as a wide grin spreads across my face. Without even thinking, I raise my new, metallic arm upward, aiming a tech-powered middle finger up to the ceiling where I would approximate my bathroom mirror to be. I let out a laugh, a _real_ laugh, and get straight to testing every hand gesture I can think of. The heavy metal horns. The shocker. The peace sign. A thumbs up. All of it is immediate, and all of it makes sense.

With a feeling as though I'd gotten over amnesia, I rush back into the kitchen and fling open the fridge. I don't even need to step out of the way this time… though my overzealousness causes the door to smash into the wall, and rebound closed again. I open the fridge once more with a bit more care, and bend down to find my prey. _There_.

I take the jar of grape jelly in my natural hand, for fear that I may crush the stupid thing with the artificial one. I _really_ need to get to experimenting later today.

I wonder if it's waterproof.

I wonder if it _vibrates_.

I decide to shelve those thoughts for later- and with as good as I'm feeling right now, maybe test them at the same time- and set the jar down onto the countertop. As I grip the lid with my new hand, I take note that the fingertips have some sort of rubber ribbing upon them, likely for exactly this purpose. The lid comes off with one easy twist, and I set it down beside the jar. I pull open a drawer and remove a knife, which I transfer over to Vice. I take one slice of toast in hand, and dip the knife into the jar of jelly before spreading it with one smooth motion.

Today is going to be a good day indeed.

I'm too excited to eat, and instead balance the toast carefully atop the open jar. I'll come back for it later, but for now, I head for the front door. I always did enjoy introducing Dad to new friends.


	3. Crescendo

There was a time in my life when I relished in the deafening roar that broke a tense silence. I would stand there, over my opponent, poised to strike but knowing restraint, and await the inevitable outcry of the crowd around us. Not once were my expectations unmet, and after my first victory in the arena, the din of cheers, claps, and screams became an auditory drug, and I, a hopeless addict. One more impossible victory. One more disingenuous challenger to defeat. Just _one_ more step upward, and I would be invincible. I would be loved. I would be a _hero_.

Now… now, I know the value of silence. Now, I understand that to be lifted up and adored is both a blessing and a curse. The air is cold atop the pedestal of fame, and all of the noise in the world could never wrap me in a warming embrace.

At least, not celebratory noise. Not anymore.

The air around me is sweltering, the noise of screams, collapsing structures, rampaging grimm, and howling winds a sensory overload like none I have ever experienced before. My skin is slick with sweat, my fiery bangs matted and strewn about my face and neck as I stare upward at my goal… no, my _destiny_.

After all, it cannot be a goal if every fiber of my being is screaming in protest at the thought of reaching it. I have to be strong. I have to be the invincible warrior that all of Vale believes me to be. One, final stand in this whirlwind of sound, so unlike the roar of a cheering crowd. I grip my javelin tight, and check the strap of my shield. My arms and armor are ready. Everything has led me to this moment, and I know now that there was never any choice.

If I am to fail, if I am to die here, it will all be worth it if I can save another life. I if I can buy them time, if I can stop _her_ , if even for a moment, the vain celebration of my life will finally mean something more than trophies and medals. I will finally earn the title of hero, not to the people, but in my own heart. _This_ is what I crave- my true goal is to safeguard life itself, from those who would seek to snuff it out. To be a huntress. A _real_ huntress.

I close my eyes, and take what precious seconds now that I can afford to collect myself amid the storm of sound. One sound in particular cuts through my focus, and the blackness behind my eyelids. The whistling of the flying weapon locker behind me, steadily becoming quieter and lost amid the sounds of a crumbling city.

The weapon locker into which I have just shoved Jaune.

I regret nothing. I gave him my all, and now, in an entirely different way, I will give him my all once again. I will give him _life_. If he were to follow me, here and now, he would surely die, or I would die protecting him. It is better to throw myself upon the pyre that is Beacon tower than to allow him the chance of doing the same. _That_ , I believe, is the purest expression of love that I can offer. Cold though it may be, I must take his ability to choose from him in order to allow him the freedom of choice and opportunity to find himself in the future. It is no easy decision to make, but it is necessary.

After all… he has fallen in love with an ice queen. Perhaps it is time that I followed suit.

I open my eyes, my blood running cold and my stomach tight. There is a very real possibility that the last time I will ever see his beautiful blue eyes is now in the past… but there is no time consider the notion. Not while _she_ is still here, and planning to make her next move from atop the tower.

My weapon and shield float around me, and back into storage positions as I begin my march for the broken elevator, mere feet away. A smoking hole takes up position in the center of the floor and roof, where that woman in the red dress had flown upward not five minutes before. Her power is _incredible_ … the same power that I failed to seize, for fear of losing myself.

My hesitance may have caused every soul in Beacon to lose _everything_. That is a failure that I can never atone for, and that is why I must proceed. So much has already been lost, and while I still stand, I will let nothing more fall.

Again, I close my eyes, and breathe deep. The aura runs swift and sure around my body, and through my very soul as I begin to call upon my semblance. Polarity. Manipulation of the positive and negative ions of metal. Never before now have I considered that my semblance is so fitting for my role in this tragedy. Light and dark, day and night, life and death… this school, this _country_ , now teeters on the edge of a blade, and the Fall Maiden, with her stolen power, is standing ready to push.

I will push back, with all of my being. So many believe in me. So many have great expectations that I could not, and cannot fulfill. So many believe me to be a hero, an invincible girl… but I alone know the truth.

My role is to buy the real heroes time to take up arms and protect all that matters, when I could not.

I stand inside of the ruined elevator, the aura within me pulsating. Aligning. Within my shaded vision, I can see the sheer force of my semblance building. The metal walls around me begin to creak and whine with strain as the steel warps and sparks. Soon, I will take flight. Soon, I will ascend to confront her with greater speed than any other could achieve. Soon, it is time to conquer impossible odds, or die in one final, momentous duel.

It is a very real possibility that I may die here, today… but I have no intentions of dying. I have _everything_ to fight for.

My eyes fly open, and with all of the strength of spirit I can muster, I _push_. The elevator begins to fly upward, and I throw my arms out against the twisting, screeching walls to maintain stability. A rush of wind whips through the holes in my flying cage, cooling the sweat that coats my skin and making my flesh as cold as my blood seems to feel inside. Despite all of my training, my entire body is tense, but… I cannot help it. I am still human, and the stakes in my actions are sky high. The effort to maintain my semblance on this level begins to take a toll, and I feel my aura begin to drain. I have never pushed this hard, I have never had to exert so much fo-

_Penny's robotic shell, fragmented, sparking, and smoking, lays upon the ground before me. Her lifeless eyes lack any twinkle, any of the curious optimism or friendly determination that they had at the beginning of our duel. She is **gone**. The crowd doesn't roar; they instead inhale all of the air in the stadium at once, stopping my lungs and heart by robbing me of oxygen. A mere second later, screams and wails of terror, tearful cries and angry words begin to ring out, directed both at Penny and I. The voice of the woman in the red dress rings out, though I cannot hear the words. All that I can see is a life forfeit to my ignorance. A candle within the darkness snuffed out, due to my projection of spirit. I had taken the life of a friend._

My stomach lurches as the memory assaults me. I _had_ used this much force once before, and it had set our downfall in motion. I had been paralyzed, shaken to the core by what remained of my opponent as the dome of the arena fell around me.

This time, come what may, I will not hesitate. I will not freeze. I know who and what I am fighting, and she is no friend.

The elevator reaches the top of the tower, and I draw my weapon and shield. The elevator lets out a faint _ding_ , and time stops.

Hundreds, thousands, _millions_ of thoughts race through my mind in what could only be the fraction of a second.

_Jaune's unsure smile, as I guide my hand across his chest and to his shoulder, to adjust the grip he has on his sword. I return the smile. "Better. You're showing improvement." "Only because I have you."_

_Nora and Ren, reclining together on Ren's bed. The silent boy is focused entirely on his book, as Nora naps beside him. He is unaware that her head had fallen into his lap… or perhaps, he simply didn't care. It was then that I knew I had a kindred spirit in the hyperactive warrior, and I invited her for coffee the next day. We spoke about fighting, the upcoming Vytal tournament, cloud shapes, and boys._

_Weiss trains in the small garden, visible from the window in my team's bedroom. I only see her now because it is two in the morning, and I cannot sleep. Thoughts of Ozpin's offer keep me awake, and I decide to watch the heiress in silence. Her eyes hold a conviction I've never seen before, as she practices her form. I do not know what she fights for, but I envy her commitment. I consider joining her, but I know that sometimes, such moments are better uninterrupted._

_Professor Port is telling another story, but this time, he gets sidetracked from telling us of his heroic exploits. He speaks about his daughter, and their first father-daughter dance. Most of the other students are asleep or doodling by now, hardly aware of the shift in topic, or the hitching in his voice as he recounts the memory. I don't know if anyone else in the room sees the tear threatening to fall from the corner of his eye before he turns, feigning a grab for a tissue and a loud cleaning of his nose, before he dabs at his eyes to hide the potential shame. I do._

_The crowd is a mixture of gasps and giggles as the people before me part, and Jaune approaches, wearing a white dress and uncomfortable smile. My spirits, long since dragged to a subterranean level, begin to soar as he takes my hand._

I have _everything_ to fight for.

Time resumes, and I am ready. Through the crack in the door, I see the outline of the red demoness. She turns to me, those blazing eyes coming into view as I act on instinct, flinging my javelin as hard as I can for her face. She dodges to the side with a subtle lean. It should have been impressive, but somehow, I knew that my throw would not meet its mark.

It would _never_ be that easy.

I launch forward, pressing my feet into my shield as we collide. I, a human missile, and her, an unflinching wall. I push off and flip into a landing, where I reclaim my weapon. I stare into the eyes of the Fall Maiden, and she returns me gaze. No words are exchanged. No words are needed. We are of opposite poles, and now, the inevitable collision begins.

My opponent smirks, and floats into the air as she begins to hurl magic, _true_ magic, in my direction. I dodge to the side, and we begin to trade blows. The woman unleashes a torrent of flame too wide to avoid, and I thrust out my shield. I _trust_ in my shield. Unrestrained fury licks against the edges of the steel, and I can feel the unforgiving heat through metal disc. Errant strands of my hair sizzle and burn away, as my body pours sweat.

This is the first duel that I fight without experiencing any joy. Others have tried to kill me before, but something in her demeanor is different. Something in the air has changed. I feel as though all hope, all justice in the world has been burned away by her flaming eyes.

I could have used that power for so much more than destruction. Amber died, so that this woman could abuse the force of nature to kill its children. _Everything_ about this is wrong.

Everything about this weighs heavily upon my shoulders.

The jet of flame finally fades, and I charge forward. We clash, trading advantage as physical contact is finally made. In some ways, I respect her ability and focus. In others, I have never seen a person more abhorrent. That combination of respect and aversion is what will give me the strength to deliver a killing blow, if I must. She cannot be allowed to take more from this world. So much has been stolen, in such little time. It is my _duty_ to stop her.

Finally, I manage to grasp her in a desperate embrace. I hold on to her with all of my strength, though her own is comparable to mine. We spin together and crash to the floor, as I call my weapon forth. As we rise together, I have her exactly where I want her.

My javelin is at her throat, and she grips the weapon to save the delicate flesh upon her neck. This may be her downfall. This may be the end of our clash, and the dawn of victory for the forces of righteousness. I pull as hard as I can to draw the blade closer, and into her skin. I can feel her fighting with all of her might to hold the metal back… and I can feel the heat beginning to conduct through the handle of the blade.

Suddenly, all tension in my arms fades, as I watch the weapon snap. The extension of my will and body, and the most likely means of stopping her, splinters and warps under the intense flames of the Fall Maiden. The fragments seem to fall in slow motion, and my heart sinks… but I know that there is no time to mourn. My will, and my shield, are unbroken. This is _far_ from over.

A wave of force resonates from the woman before me as the gigantic, monstrous grimm outside impacts the side of the tower. I am sent flying back and into the remains of a wall with dirt, dust, and debris coating my skin and eliciting a cough as I rise to my knees, to crawl to my shield.

There she floats before me, wild, unimaginable power flowing from her eyes and hands as she stares me down. To move forward, to reach for my shield, my lifeline, would mean my death. We both know it… and I will not throw my life away. This is not a march to my execution. This is the fulfillment of a promise, to all who believe in me.

I can feel my pulse, throbbing in my neck as my heart pounds. I need to be subtle. I need to be _perfect_ in my execution, as I tighten every muscle, focusing as hard as I can upon my semblance.

The stare down ends as I fling my arm outward and hurl one of the fallen metal struts from the tower for the floating menace. She deflects it, but the action gives me the distraction and time I need to set my plan in motion. Piece by piece, metal wreckage begins to rise behind her as I take evasive action, dodging her magic and a swath of fire.

With the witch distracted, I am finally ready. I feel as though my veins may burst, but I channel my aura into the floating gears, struts, and supports, to bring it all down upon her. I call back my shield, and apply pressure… though I can feel the heat, and resistance, rising.

This… this may be beyond my ability. I do not know how much longer I can hold on.

Without fanfare, without an audience, the bubble bursts.

I have lost.

Flying metal impacts me hard, and I feel my footing lose traction from the floor beneath us. All at once, I find myself hurtling through the air, and back against the ruined wall. My aura flickers, and fades.

I am vulnerable.

I tried so hard, so many times, to show them all that _I am vulnerable_.

Somehow, now, only my fiercest enemy is able to see it.

I will _not_ fall.

I spin into a standing position and fling my shield as my assailant aims a bow, and fires. The trajectory is _perfect_ , and I watch as the shield and arrow collide. I watch, as the arrow goes _through_ the shield, in a flash of dazzling embers. I watch, horrorstruck, as the arrow embeds into my ankle, knocking me off balance as I let out a cry of surprise and pain.

My palms impact the floor, and my chest heaves. How… _how_ had she shot around the airborne disc? In the end, I suppose it doesn't matter. I merely… hope I have bought them all enough time.

I hope Jaune arrived safely, and found help. I hope he _finds_ help, in the future.

Feeling leaves my foot, and I can no longer tell if I have the ability to stand. Getting to my feet is proving to be a struggle, and I make several unsuccessful attempts. A foreboding voice reaches my ears, and I stare down at the wound as I listen.

"It's unfortunate you were promised a power that was never truly yours."

A hand, warm and feminine, cups my chin, pulling upward to raise my eyes to meet hers. I see no hatred. I see no _reason_. She simply… _is_. I have no choice but to listen.

"But take comfort in knowing that I will use it in ways you could never have imagined."

How long had we been fighting? How much of a distraction had I caused? Did that grimm fly into the tower because I had her at a disadvantage? Did I… disrupt her plan? I can only hope that all of this was _for_ something. That I did my duty, and that somehow, I lived up to my supposed title of heroine.

"Do you believe in destiny?"

I need to know. In these final moments, I have to know if my only witness believes that all of this was for some greater design. I have to know that in the end, I made the right decision. That there was no choice. I _must_ know that even if I never find out what it may be, that there was a reason for this.

She seems taken aback by the question, though her answer is nearly immediate. I can feel conviction radiate from her, as it radiated from me earlier tonight.

"Yes."

I watch as she rises with a grim finality, manifesting her bow once again from thin air. We both know what happens next… though her answer gives me some level of comfort, as the arrow pierces into my chest.

I try desperately to breathe, but I am finding it difficult. It feels almost as though I can no longer properly inhale, as though the air coming in through my pained gasps never quite makes it down to my chest.

My lungs are on fire, craving oxygen. I can no longer feel the throb of my pulse in my neck, and the pounding in my chest is growing erratic.

The woman places a hand on my cheek as I remain on my knees, struggling to hold on to the last gasps of life. The warmth that I felt in her touch before seems to have intensified, and I can see her hand glowing a bright, molten orange as my vision fades.

Heat, overpowering, _painful_ heat envelopes my entire body, and quite suddenly, I can no longer make sense of what is going on. The warmth turns from painful to pleasant, spreading throughout my flesh and core, and I can hear the roar again. Is it… the roar of flames, engulfing me? The roar of a person, calling out to me? No, it isn't. It cannot be. Everything turns black, as I try to focus only upon the noise, and the rising feeling within me. Finally, I understand the noise.

It's the roar of a crowd. The roar of cheers. One final, deafening congratulations from an adoring public, carrying me away. I thought that I had grown sick of it, distant to the overwhelming din, but now, for the first time in ages, it feels… deserved. It feels like _home_. I cannot see anymore. The noise of the crowd, of those who adore me, grows louder and louder, until the loudness becomes numbing, and paradoxically inaudible. I feel nothing. I feel no ground beneath my knees, I hear all of the noise, yet none of it, and I try to think of those that may yet live, due to my actions.

I didn't fail.

I served my purpose, as a huntress.

Everything has led to this moment.

I feel at peace, as I can sense his deep, azure eyes fixed upon me.

I… feel…


End file.
